


Wild Flowers

by talldee8



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, All Main Characters Are 17 and Up, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Childhood Friends, College, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Gender Identity, Getting Together, Graduation, Heavy Angst, High School, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Multi, New York City, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Stanley Uris, Parent-Child Relationship, Physical Abuse, Polyamorous Character, Post-Graduation, Recovery, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexuality Crisis, Summer Vacation, Teen Romance, Teenage Rebellion, The Losers Club Are Parents (IT), The Losers Club Killed the Clown First Go, The Losers Club Stay Together, Trans Eddie Kaspbrak, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Eddie Kaspbrak, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Underage Relationship(s), Underage Smoking, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29330535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talldee8/pseuds/talldee8
Summary: Charlie grew up in a home full of love. His parents love each other more than most could say their parents love each other. The family they had knit together in childhood loved more strongly than the blood bonds you see. But being surrounded by all that love didn’t stop him from feeling lonely. He has two loving fathers. A tight-knit friend group he'd grow up with, along with their parents, who were basically aunts and uncles to him.So, when Charlie finds himself less than a week before his high school graduation neck-deep in the realization that everyone around him has their lives figured out while he was still unsure as to if his favorite color is lavender or maroon, he does what any other soon to be high school graduate would do. He drags his best friend Quinn to a party and gets plastered.That night sets the stage for the downward spiral that will become one of the most eventful summers of his life.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Kay McCall/Audra Phillips, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, The Losers Club (IT)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. After The Party Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for being willing to give this a go! 
> 
> Just some housekeeping before you start!
> 
> Charlie is Eddie and Richie's only child. He is 17 at the start of the story and will turn 18 during the course of the story.  
> Quinn (17) is the only Non-Losers Club kid in the story.  
> Ben and Bev have three kids: Sophie (17), Hayden (16), and Rachel (15)  
> Bill and Audra had Will (18) and Cole (16) before getting divorced.  
> Stan and Patty have the twins Dan and Abby (18).  
> Mike has a daughter Mary (18). 
> 
> All Loser couples are married other than Bill and Mike (who have been dating for 7 years and have yet to tie the knot).
> 
> Everyone lives in New York. This story takes place now in a none pandemic world making all the Losers either 43/44/45. 
> 
> This story does cover topics of Addiction, Underage Drinking, Abusive Relationships, Rape/ Non-Con, and several other potentially triggering things so please be thoughtful before embarking on this journey. 
> 
> These kids took up residence in my head over 3 months ago. Right now I have all of this planned out. I have about 25k written with much to edit and lengthen. 
> 
> You can link this to my other works if you'd like but the baby in those doesn't have to be Charlie.
> 
> Let me know what you think!!

The noise outside is faint but still obnoxious. Coming into consciousness, Charlie is flat on his back with his head pounding. The lights filtering through the blinds make him want to die on the spot. His skull feels like it has a crack in it, and his whole body aches. His throat feels raw like he spent the night screaming, but he might have for all he knows.

"You finally up, Char?" A voice from the other side of the room seems to boom into Charlie's head. Quinn is sitting in his office chair, spinning around to meet the boy's scrunched up face on his bed. Q is clad only in a pair of gym shorts and a loose tank top. His mop of black hair pulled into a bun on top of his head. A strained smile stretches across his face as he looks over Charlie.

"God, turn your fucking voice down, Q," Charlie groans out, covering his eyes with his hands. Even though his words were soft, they still shoot pain through his brain. Well, until the overwhelming need to puke made its way up his throat.

Bolting upright (which is a terrible idea on his part), Charlie finds himself on his hands and knees on the floor with a trash can being thrust under his chin right as the last amounts of alcohol find their way out of his body. Retching into the trashcan rips his throat up even more than it had been before.

A soothing hand rubs circles on his back as he continues to dry heave into the cylinder. Even though Charlie's hair isn't that long, Quinn still sweeps it away from his forehead as he rests his head against the edge of the can. 

"I told you not to drink straight from the bottle like that, babe." Quinn's voice reminds him vaguely of their adventure the previous night. Loud music, bright lights, and copious amounts of liquid courage for good measure. The house had been large and full of people.

Running a hand down his face, "Well, Honey, thanks for the fucking reminder now." Charlie drops his head into his hands, now seated on the floor of Quinn's bedroom away from the prying eyes of the rest of New York.

Charlie's biting tone does nothing to deter Quinn from taking care of him while he sobers up from his hangover. Something that is becoming a regular occurrence for the two as the months drag on. The more parties they find themselves at, the more they drink. The more they drink, the more often they find themselves hungover with throbbing heads and sick stomachs.

"I’m just saying, baby boy. You always get so handsy when you’re that fucked up.” By that fucked up, Quinn means Charlie downing most of a whiskey bottle by himself.

“I’m not complaining, but I think a few people are gonna question this,” Q says, pointing to a line of darkening marks down the column of his neck. Charlie flushes slightly with the implications that the marks leave and further where they stop. It isn’t the first time Charlie had left marks on Quinn while they were drunk but to leave that many on him means only one thing.

“Fuck... Sorry Q. I hope Hank didn’t notice. He saw me with you yesterday...” Charlie’s current boyfriend’s name makes Quinn’s joking smile lose all the warmth it had to it. The single word does well at turning Quinn into a cold and reserved statute. Hank nowhere near deserves the time or Charlie’s affections, in Quinn's opinion. If only they knew what kind of real monster Hank was capable of being.

“He can suck my cock, Char.” Charlie’s eyes narrow at Quinn. Quinn holds his hands up in a way to defend himself.

“I’m serious. He can’t just tell you not to hang out with your friends.” The bite in Quinn’s voice hurts but not as much as the truth in the statement.

Quinn had stopped rubbing Charlie’s back by this point. He honestly wishes he was still going, but the topic change to Hank always makes Quinn pull away. Pulling back far enough to make his point, Quinn holds Charlie’s phone up to his face. The timestamp lets him know that it is just after one in the afternoon. He had at least five notifications from his boyfriend, asking him where he was and how he slept after leaving the party. A biting remark about him and Quinn hid in the messages’ context. Hank always has a way of knowing when Charlie has messed up again.

Charlie just looks away, knowing that Quinn is right but not wanting to fight as the night starts to come back to him in bits and pieces. They were riding the bus home plastered against each other without a care as to what the rest of the passengers thought—barely making it up the three flights of stairs to Quinn’s townhouse before their lips sealed together. The memory makes Charlie flush red. Charlie wrapped around Q’s waist. Hot, hungry kisses shared while traveling to Quinn’s room, where the door locked as soon as they were far enough inside. Charlie latched onto Q’s neck, then further and further until. . . Charlie squeezes his eyes closed tight to get the image out of his head.

He knows immediately that neither of them addresses the mild memory of something heavy on his tongue in the wee hours of the morning. That line of hickeys leads down into the waistband of his gym shorts, and Charlie knows precisely where they end. His face grows warm again at the thought of holding Q in his mouth, even though the memory is less hazy than he wished it would be. Remembering the taste and weight of his best friend’s dick in his mouth does not help either his feelings for the boy and the fact that he has proven yet again that his boyfriend is right about him being nothing more than a useless slut.

Groaning, Charlie remembers yet again why he couldn’t get plastered with Quinn in a 50-mile radius of him. Knowing full well that Quinn is hungover just as much as he is, they act as nothing happened. The blush that is lit up on Quinn’s face does key Charlie into the fact that he also remembers that act they committed upon re-entering the apartment this morning, which makes Charlie feel somewhat better about being flushed over the whole ordeal. 

“Want to go grab mid-day breakfast, babylove? Something greasy and terrible for our figures?” Quinn asks, trying to drag both of their thoughts of the early morning’s foggy blurred actions. His hand intertwining with Charlie’s while the boy thinks about his options.

He knows that he should call Hank and apologize for what he said last night and make sure he wouldn’t come to check on him. Hank may not know where Quinn lives, but the boy always had a knack for finding Charlie when he really wanted to. Charlie knows he was in the wrong to fly off the handle like that at him. It was really the pot calling the kettle black for him to make those kinds of accusations toward Hank. Hank wouldn’t cheat on him as it looked like he had. Hank liked him. Told him so all the time. He really did just want to fuck off today with one of his best friends until he thought he was sober enough to go home without one of his dads noticing and avoid the apology he’s going to have to issue to Hank along with the physical reassurance.

“Fuck it. Let’s go Q.” Quinn’s face is split wide open with a grin that makes Charlie’s stomach twist into knots. Ignoring Hank is worth that smile.

“I want the most artery-clogging shit we can get right now!” Charlie pulls himself up from the floor. Standing in front of the seated Quinn, Charlie grins down at him before he finds Q’s arms wrapped around his waist. Pulling him flush against his seated form. Charlie hides his face in Quinn’s wild mop of black curls. The bun is tickling his nose, making him giggle into the seated boy's hair.

Q laughs, which makes Charlie feel like he made the right decision. Charlie feels Quinn’s face scrunch up, and he pulls away. His face contorted in a look of mild disgust.

“We should probably shower first. You or me? I don’t care.” Quinn’s words draw another giggle from Charlie’s lips.

Usually, one of them would joke about taking a shower together, but it seems ill-timed now. Pulling away, Charlie just opts to tug his shirt over his head and make his way to the bathroom. Quinn’s eyes follow his figure down to the hand-shaped bruise on his hip that makes him flush more, thinking back on how that one might have appeared. He doesn’t remember making it, which leads to a line of thinking he’d like to avoid.

Charlie’s hair is starting to curl up again after being over-bleached by the teen, who just makes Quinn flush more when the boy re-enters the room in only a towel.

He doesn't have to ask to borrow any clothes because he has a stash in Quinn’s dresser’s third drawer. It is full of tees and jeans as well as leggings and a few more artistic pieces he left there over time. Today, he pulls on a pair of dark jeans and a tee with a girl sucking on a lollipop on it. It is not the best choice after this morning, but it calls to Charlie, so he pulls it on.

Quinn quickly gathers his things together to shower before his eyes, or worse, his hands can wonder over what he can’t have sober.

Once both boys are clean and dressed, they head out into town to find their favorite diner that serves 24-hour breakfast, hands intertwined in a way that is much less friendly than either one of them would admit. Charlie needs this. He needs to know he is making the right decision for once in his life. 

* * *

Being the middle of the afternoon, the diner is pretty dead. The bus ride over had been almost deserted as well. The sun filtering through the windows made both boys hide their heads in an attempt to block the rays. The first few days before the official beginning of summer aren’t usually this quiet. New York is a hot spot for people to visit this time of year. The boys aren’t entirely free yet to fully embrace the sweet release of summer. They still had two full days of class left in the semester before graduation. Last night’s party was an ode to the school year’s ending—a pre-graduation celebration. A going-away bash of sorts, so kids that don’t usually show up to those kinds of things were often and everywhere. That was how Charlie found Hank tangled up in Tammy Valdez’s hands. The memory makes Charlie pale. He focuses on Quinn as they slide into their usual post-party booth where the sun can’t touch them no matter how much they shift around.

Quinn sits next to Charlie, scratching at his scalp as the other keeps his eyes squeezed shut. Another wave of light sensitivity washes over him. His long fingers working into the slightly damp hair willing them to help ease the pain the smaller boy is in. Charlie orders his greasy, cheesy omelet with double-covered hash browns while Q picks from one of the 10,000 different forms of pancakes and waffles that Mr. Roberson has come up with over the years the diner has been open.

Charlie’s phone is blowing up in just how he thought it would if he picked going out with Quinn over dealing with Hank. The constant vibrations are sending him into a near panic. If Hank decides to find him right now, he will see the situation, and Charlie will really be in for it. Quinn’s voice breaks him from the silent worries that Charlie is dealing with at the moment.

“Can’t he give you more than one minute to respond? Christ.” Quinn’s own headache makes him less than willing to put up with Charlie’s shitty boyfriend. The way Charlie’s whole body language shifts as his phone keeps going off sinks Quinn even further into a bad mood.

“I’m going to mute him for now. I’m still not sure what to say to him after yesterday, so…” Charlie hates when Hank ruins all the good things in his life. Quinn’s face lets him know that he isn’t impressed with that solution when realization dawns on his face.

“What were you two fighting about anyway? I leave you alone for two seconds, and I find you red-faced arguing with that dickhole.” Quinn’s dislike for Hank is apparent as ever. Charlie is flashbacked to his and Hank’s screaming match just in the doorway of the bedroom. He found Hank wrapped around Tammy Valdez. His pants were undone with lipstick changing his lips color. Charlie knew what was happening, but he still let the part of his brain telling him it was a misunderstanding win out for the night. But that isn’t what Quinn is referencing. He is talking about what happened in the kitchen—the semi-safe topic.

“Can we not talk about it right now, Q?” Charlie lets the discomfort of the subject wash over him anyway instead of bringing everything up.

In all honesty, he didn’t know what triggered the argument the night before other than the fact that he was sharing a drink with Quinn. It was before the bedroom incident. Q made it, so Charlie trusted that it was safe to drink rather than the random other solo cups handed out. Hank saw them from afar, he guesses. Saw Charlie drinking from a glass shared with Quinn. Charlie was seated on the countertop, with Quinn standing just to his side. The glass passing between the two. It must have boiled Hank’s blood to see the two so close in such an open area. That was the only answer Charlie can come to.

After that, Charlie switched to a bottle of Jack Daniels left on the drink table, mostly untouched, taking swigs out of the open bottle. He was sloshed when he found Hank between the legs of Tammy Valdez. He was sloshed when he pulled Quinn into a kiss and told him to take him home because he didn’t want to be there anymore.

“Shit. Alright, babe. I’ll drop it, but… You know I’m here, right baby?” Q’s voice is soft as flower petals as he drops the subject yet again. All Charlie has to do is ask, and Quinn would drop any subject for him. Charlie doesn’t know what he did to deserve such a person as his person, but he is so fucking lucky.

They sit in silence for only a couple of minutes before Q's hand finds its way into Charlie's underneath the vintage diner table. He squeezes it to tell Charlie that he can say anything, and Quinn would listen. 

Charlie thinks over what Quinn just said, wondering if he should open up about the screaming matches he and Hank shared over the amount of time he spent with Q. Hank couldn’t stand Quinn when they first started dating, and as time passes, his rage toward the other boy just seems to grow. Now six months into this relationship, Quinn is the only person Hank hadn’t wholly convinced Charlie to push away. Will was too popular. Mary had too many guy friends and talked too much about blood. His Dad hovered too much, and his Pops was just another absent father. He knows that none of that is true deep down, but Hank’s words could be so sweet sometimes. Should he really open that can of worms right now when the afternoon has been so lovely?

He decides against it knowing Quinn's temper when it comes to him. He knows that they would end up leaving the diner without food because he’d be a sobbing mess wrapped up in Quinn’s arms instead of enjoying the sunny warmth that Quinn always sets into his bones.

"Thanks, babe, but I'm fine. Really.” Charlie knows he’s lying, and Quinn knows it too, but he keeps his mouth shut for Charlie to continue.

“We may not see eye to eye all the time, but he isn't terrible to me. Promise." Charlie gives Q's hand a squeeze and releases as their food arrives. That lie is worse than the last, but Charlie refuses to meet Quinn’s eyes as he thanks the waitress for their food.

Quinn doesn't seem convinced, but he drops it anyway.

Charlie’s plate is covered in cheese, gooey in the most delicious looking way. Something so greasy never looked so tasty and gross at the same time. Quinn picked the banana pancakes then to increase the amount of sugar time 20; he added chocolate chips and an outrageous amount of maple syrup to the already sagging tower. Quinn’s face is that of a kid who just won a lifetime supply of chocolate, and it makes Charlie’s heart burst.

"Shit. I always forget how great these banana pancakes are." Quinn says, digging into the sweet monstrosity in front of him while Charlie picks at his omelet, trying not to seem like he's lost his appetite thinking about having to talk to Hank later. Even though his phone is silenced, the mere idea of having to look Hank in the face any time in the next few days makes his insides churn.

"No good babylove?" Quinn questions while ripping another large chunk out of his pancakes. His honey sugar eyes sweeping over Charlie’s face to evaluate his problem.

"Nah. Just thinking about how I completely obliterated you yesterday in DC.” Quinn knows he is deflecting but, if Charlie doesn’t want to talk about what is happening in his head, he can’t make him. Both of their minds are taken back to yesterday afternoon.

Before deciding to go to the party, the boys sat on Charlie’s bed playing Injustice 2 on his Playstation 4. They pushed at each other, yelling about who would trash who and laughing. In the less intense moments of their gameplay, Charlie found himself pressed up against Q’s side, watching him play through the story mode. Eddie came to check on the boys a few times between his Zoom calls in his office. Always just poking his head in to see how the boys were doing. They would jump apart from time to time when they heard Charlie’s Dad approaching, afraid that his Dad would suspect them of doing something inappropriate. Really, Quinn just had Charlie pressed back against his chest in between his legs as he played the solo missions.

Quinn often lets Charlie win, especially when playing his self-proclaimed namesake. Really, he just likes the way that Charlie’s eyes light up when he wins, even if he knows that Quinn let him.

"That's just 'cus you make a sexy ass Harley Quinn, and I get distracted." Q’s got this shit-eating grin on his face that makes Charlie feel amazing every time he sees it. Quinn often flirts in how his Pops flirts with his Dad but in his own personal way. Less actual sex jokes. More of a running commentary on his body. Often in the form of sweet, soft words whispered in the dark where others couldn’t hear them but sometimes, open admiration.

Quinn always seems to give him completely unfiltered emotions like the one plastered on his face. Charlie sometimes forgets how to breathe in moments like this. His lungs seize, and his heart bangs in his chest. Breathless.

"Hey, you wanna go watch a shitty movie at yours after this? My Dad's still working from home, and I can smell the alcohol coming off of us." Charlie rests his head on his palm, knowing neither of them actually still smells like a bar. He looks up at Quinn, who looks like he's weighing his options.

He really hopes that he says yes. Charlie just doesn’t want the afternoon to slip into the evening yet, which means the inevitable—either going home to answer questions from his parents or face the wrath of his now pissed boyfriend. Leaving Quinn means talking to Hank. Talking to Hank implies that he will have to face the consequences of embarrassing Hank in public and will probably involve some form of sexual compensation that leaves Charlie feeling empty and hollow afterward. Charlie had accidentally left him on read, which never leads to anything good for either of them.

"Fuck it, yeah. I'm down for that, Char. As long as I get to cuddle the shit out of you." Quinn leans into Charlie's space. His hand is grabbing tight onto his for a second. He smells like syrup, chocolate, and sandalwood. It feels like Quinn is baiting him into kissing him right then and there.

"As long as you keep those hands of yours to yourself, sugar." Charlie has a half thought of leaning into Quinn but snaps himself out of it. Kissing him right now would be a terrible idea.

Quinn always has that effect on him. He feels so comfortable when Q is this close to him. Pressing into his side like he belongs there. Warm and undeniably happy to be in the effortless sun that Quinn gives off when it's just the two of them, no matter where they find themselves.

“You don’t play fair, Char.” Q is rubbing at his scalp again while continuing to down his food. One hand in Charlie’s over bleached hair. The other making quick work of what's left of his pancakes. His arm is thrown over Charlie’s shoulders in the least subtle way possible while he works his fingers through the slight curls atop Charlie’s head.

“I play plenty fair. You just don’t know how to keep a movie PG-13, babe.” Quinn replies by giving a playful tug at Charlie’s roots as soon as the words are out of Charlie’s mouth. The feeling reminds them both of their morning activities, leaving them slightly more pink in color.

“You know damn well that I- Hey!” Charlie smacks Q’s fork away from his omelet.

“You little shit” The boys start a fork war over Charlie's mostly untouched food. They only cease their fight when they receive a series of glares from a mother a few tables away, trying to wrangle her children back into order. The brother and sister are fighting in the same way that the two were moments ago.

Both boys are flushed from the blows against each other and the amount of laughter that fell from them as they battled. They never do anything half-assed 

“I’m probably not gonna eat this right now.” Charlie gives into the mother feeling a little bad for accidentally instigating a full-on armageddon between the kids. Quinn lets his eyes drop down to Charlie’s plate, which is only missing three bites out of it at the most. He decides that there is no way Charlie is wasting this. He will be hungry later, and having something premade will help.

"Let's get you a box and blow this joint then?" The statement sounds like a question even though Charlie knows it's not.

* * *

The bus ride back to Quinn’s townhouse is much more busy, seeing it is now late afternoon. The sun is starting to set on the horizon. The boys managed to spend what most people would say is an hour trip to the diner into a several hour venture. Quinn’s mom Vanessa is home when the boys arrive. Today is the first time Charlie has seen the woman in more than a week. Her hair pulled into a neat bun at the crest of her skull, tight and professional. Her clothing suggests otherwise, but neither boy says anything about it.

“What are you, boys…” Vanessa’s words catch in her throat as her eyes land on the now painfully dark marks cascading down Q’s neck. He didn’t see any point covering them up before they left the house earlier, but now he wishes he had. He has a small stash of make-up for occasions just like this. Her eyes sear into the flesh of his neck like it is the most disgusting thing she has ever looked at in her life.

“We’re just gonna watch a movie, mom.” Q snaps out quickly in the hope to not get into the argument he knows is coming. That maybe this once Charlie’s presents will deter her from her war-path against the sins her son commits. The way her eyebrow twitches lets him know that there is no getting out of the hushed fight that is about to take place.

“Why don’t you go ahead to Quinn’s room Charlie?” Her tone tells both of them that the words were not a question but a command. Her eyes do not look at Charlie once while she surveys the damage done to her son. Both boys are tense, and Charlie lets his fingers trail lightly over Quinn’s arm as he passes in hopes of helping the boy relax some.

“Sure thing Mrs. Mora…” Charlie doesn’t want to leave Q alone but knows from experience that there was no negotiation in her tone today. He doesn’t even make it to the doorway of Quinn’s room when she starts to dig into him.

It’s not hard to hear the argument taking place in the small townhouse’s kitchen, but Charlie closes Quinn’s bedroom door anyway. He knows what's being said. Mrs. Mora has a high moral compass for a woman whose husband is gone more often than not. She has no right to rip into Quinn about being immoral when she has had more than one affair while her husband works overseas. Neither Quinn nor Charlie had even seen her with another man, but they know what other things they see.

She has no right to press the word whore into Quinn’s skin the way she does because Q wasn’t a whore. Far from one if you actually know him. He is a romantic at heart in a way that melts Charlie on the spot when he turns it onto him.

As the voices on the other side of the door rise, Charlie looks around Q’s room. The blinds are still closed from this morning. Walls covered from corner to corner in everything imaginable. The posters of movies he liked and the bands he listened to on repeat. Charlie’s favorite is the ever-growing collection of pictures that are stuck to the wall haphazardly around the mirror on the back of his door. Photos from Senior prom and their trip to the beach with his Dad from this past summer. All their friends, including units one, two, and three. The picture from past October catches his eye every time. Quinn’s curls tamed into a greased back look in a leather coat as Danny Zuko with Charlie in a cheerleader outfit next to him as Sandy. All others had picked Grease characters as well, but it was agreed that Q and Charlie’s costumes had been the best.

Quinn’s dresser is still open from their rush to leave this morning. Clothes cover the floor right outside of Q’s closet next to the dresser. Mostly tees both short and long-sleeved with a few flannel over-shirts tossed in the mix. Several pairs of dark wash jeans are included in the pile. Something peeking out from under a black and white patterned button-down catches Charlie’s eye. Charlie picks up one of his favorite sweatshirts that Q wears. The material is just as soft as he remembers. The maroon always looks good against Q’s surprisingly pale skin. He usually only wears it when it is slightly cold outside, so to see it in his pile of dirty laundry is surprising.

Charlie pulls his shirt over his head, noticing the developing bruise on his side for the first time. He has no idea where it came from but, it wasn’t there before he got plastered at the party. He wants to chalk it up to what they had been doing this morning, but he has a sinking suspicion that Hank had made the mark the night before when he grappled at Charlie’s hip to get him to listen to him about what he hadn’t seen. The thought makes him sick, so instead, he brings Q’s sweater to his face only for a moment.

He pulls Q’s sweatshirt over his head. It's baggy on him. The arms are too long and long enough to cover most of his ass. If he took his pants off, it might be somewhat of a dress on him. The sweater engulfs Quinn when he wears it, so to see the shirt eat Charlie whole makes the heat pool in his stomach. He’s looking at himself in the mirror when Q’s door is jerked open and swiftly slammed shut. Spinning around quick enough to make him dizzy, Charlie almost pulls the sweater over his head out of pure embarrassment. Quinn is frozen next to the doorway before either of them speak.

Their eyes meet for a moment, and all the anger seems to seep out of his pores as he sees Charlie standing in his shirt, blushing over being caught in his best friend’s clothes. The sweater making him look tiny even though Charlie wasn’t small. He seems like a lost child in a department store before those started going out of business. His big blue eyes wide, and his cheeks tinted red. The sight sends blood both north and south for Quinn.

“Damn, baby boy, you look perfect in my sweater.” Q’s hands find their way around Charlie’s waist casually. A tight but soft hold might be the only thing holding Quinn together at that moment. Charlie lets Q pull him almost flush against him. His hands are gripping tightly to the sides of the sweater.

“Sorry, Q…” Charlie isn’t apologizing for wearing his shirt. Quinn’s tight hold won’t let Charlie pull away to see his face, but he can see the expression without doing so. Quinn’s eyes scrunched closed tight as he tried to keep his breath even. His eyebrows have a little crease between them from how expressive he is all the time. Right now, it is nothing but pain. A pain that Charlie would give anything to take away.

“Is fine. She assumes I’m fucking some girl. It doesn’t matter. I’d rather her think that I’m gonna knock someone up than ban you from coming over.” Q’s face is hidden in Charlie’s hair, taking advantage of their height difference. The reality that his mother would much rather he become a teen parent than be gay was one that hit him sometime during his freshman year when all she could talk about was how it was unnatural and unholy. Unholy is that she had more affairs under her belt than his Dad had rental properties to manage. The tears well in his eyes again, but he fights them from falling.

They stay close and quiet for a few moments, with Charlie rubbing circles into Q’s back the same way Quinn had in the morning. He guides Quinn toward the bed, letting them fall backward with Quinn on top of him before they rearrange themselves. Quinn is kicking off his jeans for the sake of comfort. Charlie follows for a reason to be in nothing but his boxers and Quinn’s shirt. Any other time, they would have fallen into vaguely sexual banter, but Charlie lets Quinn use him as his own personal teddy bear instead. Neither of them talks. They just lay there, enjoying the comfort of having the other in their arms.

Their movie plans fall to the back burner as Q starts to slowly snore above him after a round of quiet sobs escaped him. Charlie pulls away just enough to see Quinn’s soft, sleeping face. His curls are framing his peaceful face in a way that makes him look so much more angelic than he really is. All the tension leaving his body as he sleeps instead of the tightly-round ball he had come in as after the fight.

He hates when Q fights with his parents. His mom is almost worse because she is utterly oblivious to their ‘friendship’ dynamics. It was quick at least with his Dad, and they could move on. Vanessa has this way of worming under Q’s skin in a way he hates more than anything. In a way, it reminds him of Hank. The tone and the words that she used with Quinn is too close for comfort to the way Hank talks to Charlie about himself. The sick feeling sinks into him again as his eyes start to droop focusing on the breath from the body pressed to his back. Charlie lets himself fall asleep in Q’s tight hold.

* * *

By the time Charlie wakes back up, the sun is already set. Quinn’s nightstand clock lets him know that they slept the whole rest of the day away, seeing how it is now a quarter past nine. By their usual standards, nine wouldn’t be anything to sneeze at but, they had been going since around this time last night. The house is quiet other than the snores still coming from Q. His mouth slightly open as the noises escape from the back of his throat. Rather than being wrapped in Q’s arms, Charlie finds his head resting on his chest. His hands are resting around Charlie’s back.

Taking the time to admire the flat planes of Quinn’s chest, Charlie snuggles further into him, letting his legs tangle together with Q’s subconsciously. Even though Quinn is tall, he isn’t as bony as Charlie always makes him out to be. He isn’t soft either. He is solid. Lean without much effort in the way of diet and exercise. No one could say Charlie was scrawny either, but that was because he took more after his pops in build while he took his looks more from his Dad. Almost eighteen, he had filled out a lot in his shoulders and waist over the past year. That doesn’t make him any less insecure about his body. If not, it made him more so. The slight movement of Quinn pulls him from his thoughts.

“Hmmm,” a quiet hum comes from Q as he shifts around some, tightening his grip at Charlie’s back. Charlie raises to look down at him, propping himself up on his elbow. His eyes are roaming over Quinn’s face and chest before finding a more permanent placement on his eyes. Q opens his eyes slowly, giving Char a soft grin once he is somewhat aware. Rubbing lightly at Charlie’s back with one hand letting it creep under the hem of his sweater.

“Mmm, hey there, babylove,” Quinn thoughtlessly leans up to place a kiss on Charlie's cheek. The latter lets a blush spread across his face. The combined feeling of Quinn’s hand bare on his back, and his lips on his cheek lights the all too familiar heat at the base of his spine. He decides to lean into the feeling right now instead of pushing it down like he usually does.

“Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?” Char lets his arms wrap around Q’s neck, pulling them closer together. His forehead is resting against the side of Quinn’s head. Q’s fingers move from rubbing at his back to digging into the flesh of his hip.

“Like a baby…” Quinn freezes for the first time since he woke up. His actions and their proximity seems to remind him of how completely sober they are in the moment yet, and Charlie hadn’t put any distance between them. In fact, he had pulled them together. He is still holding himself close to him even though Q’s questionable actions. Are they having a moment, or is his mind playing tricks on him again?

Charlie lets his eyes drop down to Quinn’s lips, knowing hazily just how soft they are. Before allowing them to travel slowly back up to the deep pools of hickory filled with panic, hesitation, and maybe something akin to hope. They stare at each other for only a moment.

They move on auto-pilot without either of them thinking about it. With no effort, they slot their mouth together, almost painfully chaste. A soft press of Charlie’s lips against Q’s own. It only lasts a few seconds before Quinn finds himself and tries to pull away. He has to ask if Charlie is sure about this. If he really wants to do this right now with him.

Charlie doesn’t let him, following after him until their lips are meeting again, less chaste this time around. Charlie is pressing forward to tug his fingers into Q’s curls, keeping the kiss just moments from getting too heavy to pull back from. Q gives in to Charlie’s assault by bringing them as close as possible in their current position. His hands are racking so hard down Charlie’s sides that he quivers before letting out a small whine when Q’s hands finally settle on, gripping the bend between his ass and his thighs.

They stay locked together, battling through close-mouthed kisses until Charlie pulls back gasping for air, eyes finally opening again. Half-lidded, they rest their foreheads against each other. Breath hot between them as everything sinks in. The reality of what those kisses mean to them. For them. Charlie doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

“Wow,” Q stammers out. His eyes sweeping over Charlie’s kiss bruised lips and flushed cheeks before settling on what he wanted to say just in case Charlie came to his senses. “Fuck. Why haven’t we done that before? Sober, I mean.”

Charlie can’t help but fall into laughter, pulling himself into a sitting position finally. The whole situation is so funny, but his laughter causes Quinn’s face to close off for just a moment before his usual expression replaces it. Charlie scrambles to find a way to let Quinn know how he feels about him in earnest before the boy takes everything the wrong way. Instead, his dumb brain comes up with a joke.

“Because we’re dumb and repressed?” Char jokes, pulling Quinn up to join him. Even though it is a joke, the words help Quinn relax. Charlie isn’t brushing it under the rug. He is confronting it head-on.

“Hey! Neither one of us is repressed. You literally sucked my dick this morning.” Quinn pushes Charlie backward onto his back. He hovers over the smaller boy, confirming to Charlie that he did remember what happened in his bedroom when they got back. Had Quinn been soberer than he had been? Probably not. Quinn would never take advantage of Charlie like that. Not like Hank would have. As soon as that thought crosses his mind, he throws it out the window. He just kissed Quinn, and that asshole is not taking his happiness away tonight.

Charlie is cackling at this point, tears building up in his eyes. “I was plastered! It doesn’t count!” Fighting against Quinn’s strong hands as they try to tickle his sides.

“It so counts! We’ve been intoxicatingly fucking for months now.” Quinn wrestles with Charlie for who’s going to be right. Both out of breath from the constant blows. “I’ve had my dick up your ass, babylove. It so counts.”

“Drunk sex doesn’t count!” Charlie yells back, a grin pulling at his lips. Using his position, he grabs Quinn by either side of his face and pulls him down until their lips are crashing together again. Quinn lets out a surprised gasp allowing Charlie to slip his tongue into his mouth, licking behind his teeth. They jump apart when a sudden, shrill noise fills the room. They realize after a moment that it is Quinn who receives an incoming call. Quinn scrambles for his jeans on the floor to retrieve his phone while Charlie suddenly remembers his own phone's existence. His face pales in color as soon as he slides his lock screen open. He had put the device on silent at lunch, and now it seemed that all his friends thought he was possibly dead.

His notifications are full beyond the point he’s ever seen them, but the ones that stand out to him the most are from both of his fathers first, Will and Sophie second, and Hank third. Panic and dread fill him as he reads through both his individual messages as well as his group chats from his parents and friends. His fingers hovering over Hank’s name but not opening the second largest number of outstanding texts. His Dad had called him four times throughout the day. His Pops had interacted in both their group chat as well as messaging him separately. Will and Sophie must have picked one of them each because he had several individual messages from Will not including the ones in their shared group chat. Charlie feels like he is going to be sick. 

“What’s wrong, babe?” Quinn pulls him against his chest as soon as he sees Char’s face after hanging up with his mom. Charlie looks like he might lose what little he ate today all over himself. He is shaking like a leaf in his arms. All the happiness of the moment had been lost anyway.

“We just fucking kissed and I’m going to get murdered by my parents or. . .” Q’s rubbing circles on his back again. Charlie isn’t nearly as scared of his parents as he is of Hank. The thought of even talking to him right now makes Charlie’s whole body freeze in place. He was going to be mad. Beyond mad. Char’s Dad would yell but that is just a personality trait and maybe he’d get a talking to by his Pops when he got back from L.A. but Hank. . . Hank wouldn’t be so nice about it.

“Shit. Has your Dad called the cops yet? Cuz it has technically been over 24 hours since he saw you.” Quinn seems just as worried as Charlie is about his dads’ reaction to his disappearance. He glosses over the implications of the or at the end of Charlie’s sentence hoping that it is just a ‘or worse’ kind of thing and not in connection to the man that pushed Charlie into Quinn’s arms more often than not.

“I don’t think so but I need to call Dad asap.” Charlie pulls himself off the bed to face his Dad’s wrath. Having seen their messages, everyone is responding rapid-fire knowing that he is finally back online. His phone pinging over and over causing them to tense up. Quinn was going damage control in their group chat while Charlie got up that courage to finally call his Dad. 

“Not to add to your stress but, he did call Will and Sophie both but neither could give him a good enough excuse as to what you’ve been doing. He called me too but we both know I didn’t answer.” Quinn’s words slide right under his skin, making him both warm and terrified. His Dad loves him so much. He really has to stop doing this to him. Charlie’s silence makes Q bounce on the balls of his feelings before deciding what is best for him to do.

“I’m gonna get us drinks and probably heat up your breakfast baby. Come get me when you’re done.” Quinn shifts around to kiss Charlie again quickly. Both melting into the catch of their lips before Quinn pulls back to head to the kitchen.

Charlie fiddles with his phone for a moment, answering his dads’ group chat before immediately receiving a video call from his Dad Eddie. He answers expecting to see the face of one of his dads, not both of them. Eddie’s face is already red before the words are out of his mouth but Charlie can tell it is mainly worry and not anger. Richie’s face is pinched, tired beyond anything else having drug himself across the country at the worry of his husband over their son.

“CHARLES WENTWORTH TOZIER-KASPBRAK. WHERE ARE YOU AND WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!” Eddie’s booming voice rings loud and clear through the empty room. The words vibrate inside of his skull like he is still hungover. Quinn drops something in the kitchen which pulls his attention away from his dads just for a moment. Long enough for both to tell that he isn’t alone wherever he is. Both Will and Sophie had tried to convince him that Charlie was with their friend Quinn but the boy hadn’t answered his phone either which planted the seed of panic and doubt in him. That was when he called Richie. Twelve hours later, here they are looking at their son over a video call somewhere unknown looking like he didn’t know his own name.

Charlie knows he’s fucked as soon as his full name makes its way out of his dad’s mouth. Pops looks like he almost feels sorry for Charlie but, his presence in the conversation makes Charlie feel even worse. His pops was supposed to be in L.A. right now working on a comedy set which means he either came home of his own free will two days early or Eddie’s freak out over their son’s whereabouts led him to the first flight across the country. The latter was probably true due to his tired expression and put together outfit. Pops never looks like he can dress himself in anything other than lesbian attire.

“Look dad, I texted it but I've been at Quinn’s house and I am still at Quinn’s house.” Charlie wasn’t lying per se. He is at Quinn’s house and had spent most of the day in the boy’s bed instead of his own. His phone let him know that it is currently just after eleven. Neither of his parents should currently be awake. The pit in his stomach grows by the second. Eddie looks skeptical but knows not to question Charlie yet. Both Eddie and Richie give Charlie more freedom than they probably should but he will also be eighteen in less than a month.

“I stayed over his place last night after going out with some of his other friends. Then when we got up today, we went and got lunch. We were gonna come back here to watch a movie but he had a fight with his mom so we took a nap instead… and I texted as soon as I woke back up. I promise.” Charlie talks faster than usual but he knows that both of his parents can understand his speech by now. Nothing he said was a lie again. He just left out the party. Getting drunk and having a fight with his boyfriend. Crossing boundaries with his best friend that he set both drunk and sober. Maybe his parents aren’t the largest of his problems after all. 

Eddie looks skeptical still. “Why didn’t you text last night then? Or when you got up?” Charlie was being reckless. Staying out all night with whoever doing who knows what. He could have stayed at a girl's house for all they knew about as using Quinn as a cover. Eddie likes Quinn. He really does but, sometimes he wishes that Charlie would spend more time with the other Losers kids. Safe from the things hidden in the dark of such a large city.

Charlie’s face scrunches up. His dad doesn’t believe him but, his actions as of recently haven’t inspired much confidence. Pushing both of them away. Refusing to apply for colleges when he has no idea what he wants to do with his life. Spending more and more time out leading up to this disappearing act. “I don’t know Dad. Really. Distracted I guess.” Another loud bang comes from the kitchen with a shout ‘Not dead!’ which pulls Charlie from his conversation again.

Richie places a hand on Eddie’s lower back out of the view of their son letting him know he wants to talk off video. They both know that something has been going on with Charlie since at least winter break. This being the final straw for both of them but Eddie interrogating him over a video chat wouldn’t get anything done. Especially with his attention being pulled off-camera for reasons they can’t see.

“We’ve got to talk for a moment, Bud. We’ll call back in a few minutes but, you should probably head this way now.” Richie sounds tired but in a much better mood than Eddie. Charlie holds out hope that they will go easy on him. He doesn’t deserve it but, that doesn’t stop him from wanting it. Like the way, he just wants to pull Quinn into bed for another ten hours of sleep instead of walking straight into the storm that is Eddie Tozier-Kaspbrak. Both of his fathers catch the soft expression that flashes across his face as he zones out and back in finally responding.

“Yeah, okay Pops. I’m sorry Dad. I am. Love y'all. I’ll be home in a bit...” Charlie hangs up without an answer. He hovers over Hank’s name again in his messages. Everyone else had been answered. Quinn drops something else in the kitchen and lets out a loud ‘fuck’ which makes a smile spread across his face. His phone is forgotten on the bed as he pulls himself out of Q’s room toward the hum of the microwave to see his best friend standing against the counter scrolling on his phone. His hair casting a shadow on his phone where he is bent over slightly clad only in an over-washed band tee and his cotton candy-colored boxers. Charlie’s soft footsteps pull him from his phone. He opens his arms seconds later inviting Charlie into them.

“Well, I’m not dead yet but…” Charlie wrapping himself around Quinn. Charlie is still only in his maroon sweatshirt, his rainbow-colored boxer briefs barely visible from under the hem. 

“But?” Quinn’s hands link together behind his back. Both of them ignoring the beep of the microwave. Quinn wants nothing more than to take the cute boy in front of him back to bed but now isn’t the time so he asks instead. Charlie doesn't look nearly as shaken as before. That floods Q’s heart with relief. 

“Pops is home which means Dad called him freaked and he got on the next plane back because I decided to get drunk and spend all my post-hangover time without contacting him and now I’m an asshole because I made them worry and-” Hands grip Charlie's shoulders.

“You aren’t completely to blame here babylove. I should have been in my right mind enough to remind you, Or answer his call. Really, I should have kicked Hank in the balls after he grabbed at you like that or answered his call this afternoon, giving him a piece of my mind instead of dropping it.” Quinn’s soft words help some but Charlie still feels like a dick. His dad just over-worries sometimes and when Pops isn’t there to calm him down, he gets irrational. As for all the talk of Hank, Charlie doesn’t want Quinn anywhere near Hank let alone to fight him. Charlie knows what he can do. He plays baseball for a reason. He’s got a real hard hit.

Charlie loves both of his dads more than he could ever say but for some reason, he can’t find himself opening up to either of them truly. Everything with Hank doesn’t help any but, he has such a hard time being honest with his dad in particular. Eddie could be a worrier and Charlie has a reckless streak. Charlie always had a better connection with his Pops. That was strained as well recently. He really was letting Hank control his life.

Quinn places a kiss on the top of his head, letting Charlie just rest against him. Charlie feels like nothing has changed between them but at the same time, he wants so bad to pull away and kiss Quinn again. To feel how warm and complete he makes him. After a few minutes of holding onto each other, Charlie pulls away. 

“I don’t want to leave but I probably need to go. With both of them there…” Charlie searches Quinn’s eyes for a reason to stay even though they had been standing there together for almost an hour already. The omelet in the microwave cold again as they just enjoy each other's embrace.

“I get it Char. I hate to see you go but you know… I love to watch you walk away” Quinn says with a smirk pulled on his lips before leaning down and kissing Charlie again. Charlie’s hands wade their way into Q’s hair again, pulling his head further down toward him. Q’s hands cup Charlie’s ass under the hem of the oversized sweater. He had been wanting to do this since he first saw Charlie in his sweater. They make out like that until the lock on the front door clicks, making them jump away from each other. Lips red from kissing with both of them still down to their boxers. They both make a mad dash to put on clothes. 

Quinn’s mom returns to the house to find the boys both in the kitchen against the counter as Charlie looks like he is about to literally jump out of his skin. Charlie is dressed in something different than he was earlier in the day. A large red sweatshirt that had to be Quinn’s and a pair of light wash skinny jeans. His shoes on but not yet tied. 

“Hey Mrs. Mora, I’m just about to leave. I've got a date with my dads.” Charlie says, finishing packing all his stuff into his bag. He bends down to tie his shoes before grabbing his bag off the kitchen chair. Quinn makes a move to follow him outside but his mom stops him.

“Not so fast young man, I need help doing all your overdue laundry” Likely a chore that was made to be a punishment for the hickies that stand vivid against his skin. Quinn has never hated his mom more than he does at that moment. The look of hope wiped off Charlie's face as he came to terms with the fact of having to ride home alone at a few after midnight on a Saturday night. 

“Sorry Char, I’ll call you later man. Be safe!” Quinn yells as Charlie makes his way out of their front door. Quinn wants nothing more than to say fuck you to his mom and follow after Charlie. He has a terrible feeling that something bad is going to happen while he is alone. 

Stepping foot onto the bus, Charlie finally answers Sophie and Will. They just want to know what they are missing about everything than when his funeral was going to be. He spills that he and Quinn finally kissed while they were sober. Quinn pops in to tell them in great detail about how fine his ass is leaving Charlie laughing so hard his sides hurt. Q then turns into a true sap about how cute he looked in his clothes. Will is the one to mention Hank making everyone in the chat silent for a moment. Like he is being summoned, Hank’s name pops up across his screen. Charlie sends a quick text to the group that he would take care of it without seeing the adamant plea from Quinn not to do so alone.

Hank is pissed. Beyond pissed. He is downright murderous and Charlie knows it. He can just tell from the tone of his texts so he knows that if he doesn’t answer, everything will be worse but answering means him getting screamed at in public again. In the end, he answers because he needs to tell Hank where they stand and to tell him he can’t talk once he gets home. He put Hank on mute after his call with his dads but Hank saw that he was online. Knew he was ignoring him and Charlie couldn’t ignore Hank without punishment. He knows this is how it works with them.

“So you finally stopped being a fucking slut and answer my calls?” The words cut deep into Charlie like they always do. Hank is going to kill him next time he sees him. Charlie can feel it in his bones. Maybe he can break it off without seeing him. 

“I had a headache so I took a nap. Sorry baby.” There is no heat to the words. No where near the way the word leaves his mouth when he says it to Quinn. Hank knows he is lying. Hank always knows or maybe he doesn’t but always accuses anyway.

“Don’t fucking lie to me Charlie. We both know you were probably ass up on his bed both last night and a few hours ago.” Hank’s voice echoes through the bus making Charlie’s face heat up. He doesn’t always have to yell to be heard. Thank goodness that not many people are on the bus currently but the woman closest to him looks him up and down before looking away.

“We both know that’s not true Hank.” Charlie tries to do some form of damage control. His voice is quiet but most definitely defiant. 

“Show me then. Right now.” Charlie feels lead settle in his stomach. That is a command. One that Charlie is going to have to follow through with instead of heading straight home.

“I can’t. I’m on the bus Hank. I have to go home.” Hank just clicks his tongue. The noise sends a spike of anxiety shooting through his veins. That noise means Hank is close to snapping. Close to finding him and dragging him back to his house himself for them to ‘talk’ it out again.

“Come here then. I need you to prove you haven't been cheating Charlie.” Like Quinn’s mom, there is no question in his voice. A harsh, steel edge that cuts leaving Charlie wide open with fear on a bus a block away from home. Charlie has to go see him. He has no other options. He really is going to die tonight and it isn’t going to be at the hands of his Dad. 

Tensely, Charlie agrees to Hank’s command like he has a choice. “Okay. Fine. I’ll come to yours but I can’t stay long. My parents think I’m on my way home.” He tries to sound like he is still in control but they both know who has the power in their relationship. Hank only had to ask once. That shows just how weak Charlie really is to him.

“Good. I’ll see you when you get here, lovely.” Hank is smirking as he hangs up, Charlie shaking in his seat. If he wasn’t on the bus, he would puke right now. His hand covering his face while he tries to make himself comfortable. 


	2. Cigarette Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie finds himself face to face with several situations he never thought he would in one night, including a rough encounter with his boyfriend, the nuclear fallout of said encounter, being scraped off the sidewalk by his best friend, and facing his parents in less than pristine condition. 
> 
> Or, Eddie and Richie have an aneurysm over their mess of a son who may be in more trouble than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long this took! I've been workshopping some parts in the middle for a while and finally got it to a point where I feel comfortable posting it.
> 
> That being said, this chapter is very heavy. Please go over the TWs before reading because this one is dark. The last chapter led into the situation, but if it was not apparent where it was going, please use this as a warning.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Assualt, Conversations about and allusions to rape (of a minor), Use and Manipulation, Blood and Injury, Panic Attacks.

Hank's house isn't far from his own, but it did make him sit on the bus longer than his own stop would have. He is going to have to double back when he leaves. Suppose he leaves tonight or at all. Neither of Hank's parents are home when Charlie arrives, meaning they are going to be alone. That makes Charlie's heart drop to his stomach again. He feels sick. After a moment of thought, he sends his location to the group chat then sends the exact address to Quinn because he has a car. Both with the message that if he didn't answer in ten minutes, they could panic for real. He ignores the questions because he reaches Hank's front door. He doesn't even have to knock on the door. Hank pulls it open and yanks Charlie inside harshly. 

Hank is dressed down in a plain tee and a pair of lounge pants. His emerald eyes are dragging over every inch of Charlie he can see. When he doesn't find what he is looking for, a command passes from his mouth with ease.

"Finally. Now, Shirt off." Charlie just stands there for a moment, trying to process the sudden request. Hank gives him a full five seconds before he grabs Q's sweater, roughly pulling it over Charlie's head. Charlie stops breathing as Hank's eyes roam, his upper body landing on his hip's formed bruise. Hank's face contorts into the expression that he makes when he punishes Charlie for his behavior. Charlie is frozen to the spot. 

"I knew it. God, do you let everyone use you like that, Charlie?" Hank spits at him, pulling him toward the stairs before Charlie can find himself again. Pain blossoms up his wrist from how tight Hank's grip is. Charlie's breathing picks up. Only one thing is upstairs, and if he lets Hank take him there, he won't make it home tonight, maybe ever if Hank lets out all his aggressions on Charlie. He has to leave. He can't do this. Not tonight. Not again. 

"What do you think you're doing, Hank." Charlie's voice is small. He doesn't need an answer. They both know. Their eyes meet cold crystals against frozen grass. Charlie tries to rip his hand out of Hank's grasp. Pulling hard enough to hurt like Hank is daring him by trying to break his wrist.

"I'm going to show you just how sluts like you are treated." His voice is cold. His eyes unmoving as he just watches Charlie struggle in his grasp. Eyebrows raised as if asking Charlie if he is trying to fight him.

"No, you're fucking not. Let go of me fuckface." Charlie knows the words are a terrible choice, but he is equally angry and scared. His voice is shaking both from the lack of breath control and the downright terror shooting through him.

"That's not how you talk to your boyfriend, Charlie. Now be a good boy and take whatever I fucking give you!" Hank's grip feels like it might snap his arm at any moment. Hank had broken a wooden bat once with his bare hands. He could do the very same to Charlie's arms or, worse, his neck.

Using all his strength, Charlie breaks free from Hank's hold, yelling at him, "Then maybe I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore, you fucking arrogant prick!" The tears in Charlie's eyes are both scared and determined. He has to get out of this house, out of Hank's hold. He has to fight, or he is dead. Adrenaline is setting in from the small victory.

Hank must see red because the next thing Charlie knows, he is on the floor with pain blossoming from the side of his face. Everything is out of focus for a moment. There is a weight on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs. Hank's hands wrap around Charlie's neck with enough pressure to make it hard to breathe but not tight enough to make Charlie lose consciousness.

Hank must be sitting on his waist. "You fucking whore. You think you can talk to me like that when everyone knows you let Quinn fuck into you every chance you get!" Hank's breathing is heavy. His hands move to grip Charlie's head, raising it, then thrusting it down against the wooden floor.

Pain is now radiating from both sides of Charlie's head. He can feel himself getting foggy. He can't lose himself yet. He has to get out of here. He has to get home to his parents. He can't die like this.

Hank is speaking again, "We all know he just thinks you're easy. None of your other friends will put out like you do slut. I thought maybe he hadn't sunk his teeth into you yet, but I guess I was wrong. He's made you just another one of his whores." His hands are moving to cover Charlie's throat again.

The words falling out of Hank's mouth make Charlie's blood boil. He has no right to talk about Quinn like he is dirty, something that no one should want around. Charlie finds his strength bucking Hank off him with what little energy he has left in him. 

Hank lands one more solid hit to Charlie's mouth busting his lip before Charlie can land a sharp blow to Hank's balls. Hank crumbs to the ground with a high-pitched cry from how hard Charlie kicked him.

"Go find someone else to stick your dick in Hank who might actually want your tiny cock." Charlie says, grabbing his sweater and backpack slipping out of the door before Hank can recover. 

Running down the street toward his own home a few blocks away, Charlie pulls Quinn's sweater back over his body. It is then that he notices the blood dripping down his chin from his busted lip. Although he just physically fought Hank, he finds himself on cloud nine from liberating himself of that asshole. The adrenaline is still pumping through his veins, so the pain hasn't set in yet.

He notices that Quinn has blown his phone up with messages about him coming to get him from wherever his phone says he is. Will and Sophie seem just as panicked about his lack of answers. It had been way more than ten minutes. Charlie's phone now tells him that it is almost two in the morning. He had talked to his Dad over two hours ago. Instead of just texting Quinn back, he starts a video call. He sees himself for the first time since the fight began.

His bottom lip was busted wide open. His face's right side has a cut on it and forms a rather dark blob rising on his cheek. He can feel the bump starting on the back of his head as well. The fingerprints indented around his neck are what makes him feel the sickest. He wonders if he has a concussion from where he hit the floor twice. 

"What the fuck!" Quinn's voice brings him out of his muddy thoughts. He comes to a standstill on the sidewalk—everyone who passes by avoiding him. 

All the color is draining from Quinn's face as Charlie just finds himself grinning back at him with blood in his teeth… What was Quinn to him now? Charlie loses himself in thought again as Quinn rattles out questions to him. Were they boyfriends? Could they be boyfriends? Hank's voice creeps into the back of his mind, but Charlie's mind is too confused to listen right now.

"Earth to Charlie! I swear to god, babe. Fucking answer me!" The shrill tone to Q's voice is the only reason Char returns to the surface. He barely notices that Quinn has got to be in his car because of how dark it is and the soft music playing over the radio. 

"What was the question again?" Quinn lets out a frustrated sign rubbing his face with his hands at what is probably a red light given the color flashing across his face. Charlie is still stationary. He can't get his feet to move from the spot even though he should get moving. His Dad was going to be so mad at him.

"What happened, Char? All of it." Charlie wonders if he should tell Quinn about the words that Hank had used. 

It wasn't the first time that Hank had talked to him like that. Hank had been treating him like that for the past few months. Tight hands wrapped around Charlie's wrists and accusing words. He'd been rough with him, too, but Charlie just let it slide because things were so good sometimes. Quinn never made him feel like that. Never called him a slut or a whore. Never took his anger and frustrations out on Charlie's body. 

"He said some shit I didn't like. I called him an asshole and told him I didn't want to be his boyfriend anymore. He did this to my face because of it." Charlie decides to tell Quinn the bare bones of what happened, not wanting to upset him more than he already was.

"Charlie," the look Q locks onto Char let him know that he believes that is bullshit. The feeling of Hank's hands around his neck resurface, and it takes everything in him not to puke.

"He pulled my sweater off and called me a slut. Do I really have to say more…" Charlie really doesn't want to have this conversation in the middle of the street on his way home. He doesn't want to tell his best friend and maybe-boyfriend everything Hank had done to him… what he was going to do to him tonight if he hadn't fought.

"Shit. Char… Do I need to come to get you?" His voice is strained. He asks like he isn't already more than halfway to him. Charlie tries anyway.

"No, babe. I'm almost home." The words come out slurred, which doesn't bode well for him both on the concussion front and the look on Quinn's face. 

"No. I'm picking you up and taking you home as I should have earlier. I'll be at the address you sent me in two. Stay put." Quinn hangs up before Charlie can fully process what Quinn had just said. Panic floods him all over again as he realizes he just sent Quinn right into Hank's clutches. The worst part is that he can't run back to Hank's house because he is too disorientated to know what direction that would be. 

Charlie has no sense of time as he tries to fight the panic flooding him from his seat on the bus stop bench he managed to drag himself too after losing what little he ate today all over the sidewalk. He doesn't have to panic for long when a familiar worn red ford pulls up next to his shaking form on the bench. Charlie goes to stand too quickly and feels himself falling backward when the slam of a door reverberates through his already aching skull. He doesn't hit the bench, though, because he is being held one-armed by Quinn, who is cradling his right hand to his body

It is then that Charlie notices the blood that splattered on Q's shirt and the bruise forming just under his cheekbone. 

"What um. What did you do, honey?" more concerned about the blood coming from Quinn than the blood coming from himself."I broke my fucking hand on that dickhead's face. Now, let's get you home, babylove. You look like Shit, and it is almost four in the morning." Quinn's words are hard to follow, but he lets him pull him toward his car then into the passenger seat. Charlie was out before Quinn started the car, no matter how much he tried to keep him awake. Quinn is scared shitless but not about what he had just done. His one and only focus is getting Charlie someplace safe where he can survey the damage that cunt had done to his baby.

* * *

The drive to the house would have been nice if Quinn hadn't spent the whole way worrying about if Charlie was dead or not. They sit in the driveway for a few minutes while Charlie regains some form of consciousness. Enough to speak and be able to walk without falling over. The lack of food in his system probably wasn't helping. Quinn uses Charlie's key to unlock the first level door. They make their way up to the main level, where Charlie knows both of his parents must be waiting by now. It is almost six in the morning if the clock on the wall is still in working order.

As soon as footsteps are heard, Eddie is standing ready to blow a fuse on their seventeen-year-old son, being gone for almost 24 hours and making them stay up waiting for him, but when his eyes land on Charlie's bloody face and Quinn's broken hand, all rage is consumed by panic. 

Charlie can see it in his Dad's face and the way his Pops goes from jetlagged to alert in a moment. 

Eddie's hands find their way to Charlie's face then over his shoulders as he leads him through the living room and into the kitchen. Richie flounders as to what he should be doing while Eddie works to find each injury blindly. Quinn follows silently behind. His hand is still held tightly to his chest. Him and Richie both looking on as Eddie takes care of Charlie.

"Charlie. What happened? Who did this to you? Oh, baby." All of Eddie's words run together even though his panicked tone as he easies Charlie into a chair on one side of their eat-in table. Richie and Quinn off to one side feeling useless while Eddie's hands are checking over his son's face and head, feeling the bump forming on the back of it. He waits with bated breath for Charlie to answer.

When he doesn't, Quinn quietly adds, "I think he has a concussion. He has been swimming since the first time he answered my call." Both parents survey the taller boy, who is mentally in a better place but the swelling of his face and his hand dripping blood. For the first time, they take in Quinn's injury, leading Richie to scramble for something frozen and Eddie for a dish towel to wrap his hand in. Quinn is pushed into a chair next to Charlie just moments later, but all attention is taken off of him when Charlie finally speaks.

The concussion theory becomes more plausible when the only words he can get out of his mouth are, "I kissed a boy." None of them were expecting that answer, not even Charlie himself. Quinn's face flushes, but the ice on his face hides it well. He knows for a fact that Charlie is talking about him. The look in Charlie's eyes is still cloudy, even though he seems to be coming back to himself.

Charlie did not answer any of the questions Eddie had other than maybe who did this. A thousand different scenarios play out in his head like rapid fire. Even though kissing boys is widely accepted now if Charlie had kissed the wrong boy, this is where it could lead but, why was Quinn involved then? How had both boys been hurt to this level over a simple kiss if that was even the triggering action? How long had they been injured? When did this happen? The questions kept piling up as the situation makes less and less sense.

Eddie and Richie share a look. Richie desperately wants to cut the tension with a joke but holds himself back. Charlie hadn't been overly forthcoming about his relationships. Not with them anyway. They know from overheard conversations that Charlie had at least one girlfriend in the past, but no words had been said on how he felt about boys. This small bit of information was the first either of them had heard about Charlie being romantically involved with a guy. Richie had always had his questions about Charlie and Quinn but never questioned them openly. Neither of them had met any of Charlie's romantic interests. He didn't seem to spend much time outside of the Losers' kid group with anyone other than Quinn. Somehow Quinn is tied into all of this, but neither is quite sure how yet.

From the dazed look on Charlie's face right now, Eddie figures that the kiss probably happened with someone other than the person who left the damage to either boy. In fact, the way Charlie's eyes slide over to Quinn makes Eddie that the boy he kissed is standing in the kitchen with them. The flushed look Quinn thought was hidden by the frozen vegetables held to his face gives him away. Missing the boys' silence signals, Richie proves he doesn't have any more tack or understanding than he did when they were kids when it came to sensitive matters of the heart.

The combination of sleep deprivation and well-hidden fear completely disconnects Richie's brain to mouth filter leading him to dryly say, "Maybe pick a different boy to kiss next time, Bud." He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth both because of the look that Eddie levels him as well as the confusion that settles over Charlie's face like the comment was trying to queue up in his probably bruised brain.

Eddie's face flushes with irritation. Not understanding how his husband could be so dense. Richie really could be an idiot sometimes. If anyone should understand what was going on, it should be them, seeing how they spent a good part of their teenage years pining after each other.

"Rich, can you not right now. Charlie has at least a busted lip and, judging from the bump on the back of his head, a concussion. Not to mention the more concerning bruising. Can you keep your mouth shut until we figure out what happened to our kid, please!" Eddie's rant is nothing new to Richie or Charlie, even if the latter is still only somewhat cognitive. On the other hand, Quinn flinches even though it should be commonplace for him by now. He spends enough time around the Tozier-Kaspbrak household to know the different levels and volumes of both Eddie and Richie's meaning. This one is no different than when one of them is slightly inconvenienced by the other. Still, the current situation has Quinn on edge.

Charlie levels his Pops with a confused look trying to piece together his father's meaning. It felt like his brain is recovering from being turned to jelly but not in a good way. It throbbed in a way that makes any thought deeper than surface-level taxing. His gaze finds Quinn. The realization crosses his mind after a moment before his face turns sour. The notion that having any kind of physical contact with Hank makes his stomach churn. There is only one person who gives him such warm, pleasant feelings. He is currently trying to melt into the floor as the two actual adults are distracted.

Eddie's voice fills the open space as he scolds his husband like he was the child in this situation rather than another reasonable adult. Railing Richie about the assumption that he made and how he needed to be more mature if this was some form of hate crime rather than a fight, seeing as how they still had no idea how either boy ended up in this condition.

"Oh no, Pops, Hank did this to me," Charlie lets the words fall from his mouth before the real panic of the admission can set in. His brain is unable to process the statement-making it sound nonchalant. He says it like an achievement that his head had been used as a dodgeball during P.E. Quinn winches at the tone. His usable hand finding Charlie's ready to go into a rant about how Hank should have never laid a hand on him. Let alone said half the things he probably had if what he said to Quinn was anything to go by. He wants to throw himself under a bus for no seeing just how deep Hank had burrowed into Charlie's mind in only six months.

Both men stop to stare at their son. The fact that he knew his attacker and was able to state it so plainly is concerning. Who was this? Why was he placing his hands on their son?

"We're going to have to have some more information, Charlie. Who is Hank?" Richie is the one to speak because the rage that consumes Eddie's face again at that moment leaves him unable to ask the questions he has.

The boys share a look as all the color drains from Charlie's already pale face. Their eyes travel to Quinn, who is wrapped up in talking to Charlie in a hushed whisper to notice. The words Q is trying to get through to Charlie are barely audible even in their close quarters, "Fuck him, baby. Really. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner. He should never have laid a hand on you." Quinn's comforting only adds to the overflowing of Eddie's mind.

While Charlie seems to all but falls apart in his seat, Quinn picks up the question, a death grip on Quinn's hand after the openly private conversation.

"That piece of shit was Charlie's boyfriend." The venom from the statement could burn a hole straight through the ground underneath them. Quinn's jaw clenched tight as his focus shifts back to Charlie, who looks like a green color is slowly rising up his neck.

One question answered, but the context warps a stone into the bottom of Eddie's stomach. What kind of relationship had he been in? How long had this been going on? What triggered Quinn's involvement tonight? Was it still going on for him to come home in this state? What should they do?

The sharp tone Quinn took on quickly shifts again he evaluates Charlie. His eyes downcast as not to meet the looks of either of his parents. Quinn knows Charlie doesn't talk about his relationships at home even though they were numerous and spontaneous. His battered hand resting on Charlie's back as he does his best to incase the other boy.

"Nothing he said is true, Sweetheart. I promise. And he is never coming near you again." The conviction in Quinn's voice is what finally gets Charlie to look at him. His eyes glassy as he gives a little nod letting Quinn knows he hears him and understands. Quinn allows a small victory grin to take over his features.

Quinn's soft look keys Richie into precisely what might be happening between his son and his best friend. It is only a small comfort as to all the other thoughts racing through his head. His inability to filter what comes out of his mind to his mouth stops him from asking any tough questions either out of a need to lighten the mood or avoid learning what has really been happening to their son.

"So, you kissed a different boy? Do we need to have the sex talk because I feel like you know dicks well enough by now to know what not to do?" Eddie's hand is smacking Richie's arm before anything else can be said. Charlie and Quinn flush at that comment confirming both Eddie and Richie's conclusion, the conclusion they had come to separately before making eye contact. The story of what happened only gets more complicated the more they uncover.

"Beep fucking beep, Richie. How is that your only question right now? Our kid is literally bloody, and you ask if he needs to know about dicks? Is the fucking hamster in your brain even running right now?" Eddie's verbal assault on his husband actually makes the room feel lighter than before. Quinn cracks a chuckle at the hampster comment. He always thought Eddie should have been the comedian out of the two men his best friend (maybe more?) calls parents.

To physically remove himself from throttling Richie, Eddie fetches the first aid kit from the hall closet, leaving Charlie, Quinn, and Richie alone.

"You know you can tell us anything, right, Char?" Richie's questions hit differently when it is just the two of them. Quinn's presence doesn't change that. He knows more about the situation right now than Richie. Well, he knows as much as Charlie would let him know about Hank. Charlie stops to think as his mind finally seems to clear enough to form a line of thought. He owns it to his parents to talk about this. He let the issue sit for too long without reach out.

"Yeah, Pops. Sorry I didn't say anything about Hank. I just…" but the name seems to trigger a familiar sense of panic in Charlie for the first time in a long time.

Before he knows it, his Pops leads him through the breathing exercise they used to use when Dad gets overwhelmed by something. Charlie hadn't had a panic attack in front of his parents since he was in middle school. The boa constrictor around his lungs loosening up. Quinn's good hand is rubbing at his back again for the tenth time today. He relaxes immediately at the touch, which doesn't go unnoticed.

By the time he comes back to full consciousness, both of his parents are there again. Eddie pulls things out of the first aid kit while Richie is holding a glass of water out for him. Charlie takes the water with a slight shake to his hand. He didn't think that the very thought of … would cause him to react like that. He had been thinking about him all day, but suddenly it is like he can't even say his name in his mind without feeling like he will be sick. Nausea had hit him earlier, too, when the topic was first brought up. Maybe Quinn can talk about it instead? He had been covering everything Charlie hadn't able to say already.

"Alright, bud, you know the drill. Show us how bad it is, or your Dad is going to pop another blood vessel in his eye." Richie's casual tone makes Charlie feel calmer about this kind of stuff. The memory of 'H' ordering him to do the same causes him to suck in a breath.

He remembers the poorly hand-shaped bruise that he found on his hip yesterday. The same one that made 'H' fly into a rage. His face heats up, "Can't I just leave my shirt on for this one? It's just my head. Promise." Charlie begs his Dad with his eyes, but nothing can convince Eddie Tozier-Kaspbrak against his medical training. Quinn is squeezing his hand.

"No, sir. Shirt off now, young man." Charlie raises his shirt over his head slowly before discarding it and refusing to look either of his parents in the eyes.

Eddie surveys him while Richie tries to distract himself. There is a bruise forming around Charlie's wrist, probably from grabbed with too much force. The bruise on his waist is a little older, but its existence leaves Eddie's mind questioning. He doesn't question Charlie on it, mostly from not wanting to know the answer as to how it was made. Ene though it is light, there is some imprint across Charlie's ribs that worry him. Eddie's eye surveys the bruises forming around his son's neck, offering at least one concrete happening of the night. That fucker had tried to choke their son. Had they almost lost him tonight? Richie must be thinking the same thing because his hand finds Eddie within seconds. Charlie thought he would get off without giving them a detailed happening of the night until his Dad opens his mouth again.

"I need to know what happened, Charlie." Eddie's voice is firm but caring.

Charlie looks at his pops, pleading with his eyes. Neither boy wanting to relive the past handful of hours of their lives. Quinn feels like he might be sick. He doesn't want to be banned from seeing Charlie before their relationship even really started. Both boys in a cold sweat. Either entirely in the right as to what has been going on.

"Sorry, Bud, but you ghosted us and came home fucked up. We gotta know." Richie wants to pull their son into a hug and let him know that they aren't mad. Not at him anyway or Quinn for that matter because he isn't even sure if their son would be standing before them if it wasn't for the boy. Both look ready for the ground to swallow them up like they were about to get in trouble for whatever happened. Like they believed they were to blame, and maybe on some level they were but, no one deserves whatever happened to them.

Charlie sighs, ready to launch into his explanation when his phone vibrates. At any other moment, he would answer immediately. Still, the raised eyebrows of the Dad make him think twice about answering. Eddie lets out a huff and motions for Charlie to check his phone when the vibrating doesn't stop. It is just Will and Sophie, but their voices are filled with panic over the video chat.

"What the fuck, Charlie!! You can't just drop us a location and then not answer for like hours. Are you home? Have you talked to Quinn? Your baby-daddy was in his car exactly at ten minutes. Please tell me you're both okay." Sophie's voice fills the room reminding Eddie and Richie of both Ben and Beverly at the same time. Being their oldest, it makes sense for her to sound like both of them. It also fills in a few questions that their son had yet to answer. Quinn makes his face known on the call, which prompted both Sophie and Will to exclaim in relief.

"Please tell me one of you got in at least one good hit? I don't want that cunt to be able to walk at graduation. I hope he fucking loses his full ride to whatever school he was planning on playing at. Dumb fucking himbo." Will sounds nothing like Bill, and Richie wants to cry over all the words that just left the usually quiet boy's mouth.

Sophie snickers and adds that calling Hank a himbo is an insult to himbos everywhere but stops talking as Charlie's face contorts again, his breath coming out short. Both focusing back on the injuries that they can see on Charlie.

Quinn catches them before they can ask anything by saying, "Yeah, I broke my fucking hand on that bastard's face," lifting his damaged hand into view of the other, "Broke his nose for sure. Even if he can still walk, he is gonna be an ugly motherfuck for the rest of his life." All three of the others laugh even if Charlie's is followed by a wheeze.

Quietly Charlie includes, "I kicked him in the balls. Maybe he'll lose one." Now it was Quinn's turn to laugh while pulling Charlie to him. Charlie's arm curls behind Quinn's back as Q says, "That's my boy," before resting his head forward on Charlie's shoulder. Will and Sophie let out a round 'finally.' The two boys in front of them seem obvious to the two on the call. Will and Sophie seem happy with what they see. They made sure that the boys are safe and looked after before deciding to sign off. The boys stay wound together before Eddie clears his throat and brings them back to where they are. Faces cherry red, they sit back down at the table.

Everyone in the room is quiet for a moment, which is a testament, seeing how no one in the house could shut up for longer than 30 seconds.

"Are you going to tell us what happened now?" Eddie's attention finally returns to Charlie after the impromptu check-in from their friends. Eddie hadn't said anything, but he knows that the Losers' own group chat had been pinging non-stop since he raised the red alert late last evening.

Charlie opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on closed. "If I tell you the truth, will you get mad?" Both parents look at each other again. Before either can say anything, Charlie asks another question.

"Once you know the truth, will you make me stop seeing Quinn?" The wording of the question is what throws both Eddie and Richie off. Neither knows quite what to make of the second inquire.

"I can't promise we won't get upset, but we need to know that you are telling the truth and not lying to us, Charlie." Eddie is the one to answer, but Richie's face is the one that lets Charlie know it will be okay. "As for Q, that is a completely different conversation we will have afterward." That answer makes the boys look at each other, but the soft look on his parents' faces tells him that they wouldn't take away anything that makes him happy.

"I went to a party with Quinn, and we got plastered. Not the first time and probably not the last. Please don't give me that look. You asked for the truth!" Charlie throws his hands out in front of himself in justification.

Eddie's eyebrows have almost ascended into his hairline. His mouth is set into a firm line like he is holding himself back from interrupting with more than just his expression. Richie wants to ask just how they got invited to those kinds of parties and why they went without the rest of their friends but also reserves himself after seeing the deepening crease in his husband's brow.

"But anyway. I stayed over at his place because I knew I'd be hungover as shit. So we got up and got food, then he fought with his mom, and we cuddled and took a nap. Then you called. Sorry babe." Charlie adds the quick apology to the end in a small attempt to make up for airing some of Quinn's personal problems to his parents. Quinn doesn't say anything but does give a slight shrug as to say, 'it's what happened. No big deal,' even if it does feel like an invasion of privacy for both of them.

"I knew Ha… He was mad because he was at the party and saw us together. We were just sharing a fucking drink. I caught him cheating, so fuck him, but he knew I stayed over at Q's place because I always do after a party, and then I ignored him, so I went to see him on my way home. I HAD to go, but things got bad fast." Charlie's voice takes on a tremble again as he tries to keep what happened contained to the simplest version. If he gets caught up on everything that happened with 'H' now, he would never get through the rest of the story.

"Usually, his parents are home, but they weren't, and I fought him because he was gonna…" Charlie sucks in a breath like it might be his last before breaking himself out of that line of thought again.

"Anyway. I broke up with him! And then Quinn came to get me and brought me here. That's the whole story, your honor!" Chest heaving, Charlie looks from his Dad to his Pops and back again. Neither speaking as they processed all the information they were just given. Charlie's words are rapid-fire, leaving his parents very little time to process everything he said. Still, the lack of response sets Charlie's nerves alight with both fear and panic. His only calming sensation is Quinn's hand making small lines up and down his back as he tries to keep his breathing even.

The implications Charlie made about his newly ended relationship make both Eddie and Richie uneasy. If this Hank boy was willing to hit both Charlie and Quinn, he was probably ready to do much worse to their son. The thought made both parents nauseous. Neither man had ever been in a relationship that had taken a turn into outright physical abuse and assault. Still, they do remember Beverly's brief but horrible relations with Tom Rogan. This hit a lot closer to home for them than they ever thought it would.

The part that troubles Eddie the most is the notion of what might have happened if Charlie hadn't been able to fight back. The mere idea that this boy was going to violate their son knocks the breath out of his lungs in a way that only pure panic can leave him gasping for air. Richie's mind must be in the same place as his again because he rubs soothing circles on his back to aid Eddie in breathing with a grim frown pulled at his lips.

Before either of them can gather the courage to ask the question that needs to be asked, Quinn turns to Charlie with the most despairing expression they have ever seen on the boy's face. His eyes searching Charlie's to answer a question they can't even begin to understand in the current context.

Quinn's worry lies in the fact that they had been sexually active for three months. The thought that Hank had been touching Charlie without his permission while they were sleeping together makes Quinn feel just as dirty for taking advantage of him. The concept is crushing, driving all the blood from Quinn's chest. Quinn knows enough to agree that they were always intoxicated, blurs the lines of consent in every possible way. Was he just as bad as Hank? Had he hurt Charlie more than that monster already had?

"Did I even make you feel the way he made you feel?" The question is simple but holds more weight than either adult can discern. Charlie's head snaps up with so much force Eddie is worried that he might give himself whiplash. His hands found either side of Quinn's face in an instant, frantically looking over the other.

"Of fucking course not honey. God, I swear." His words babbled like he is about to cry from the single suggestion breath still labored.

The two boys, lost in their moment, forget about the adults stationed across the table from them. Richie wonders if they often lost themselves in each other like this when they were younger. He bets all of the other Losers plus Patty would be able to speak on it in great detail but watching their son lose himself entirely in someone else is also terrify because it knocks the fact that Charlie is no longer a child, right back in Richie's face. Eddie is more concerned about puzzle out what the conversation taking place means on things' grander scheme.

"You are fucking perfect, Quinn. Sweet and soft and warm where he was nothing but metal coated in honey." Charlie's eyes fill with tears threatening to spill over. Quinn sucks in a breath before pressing his lips to Charlie's chastely like it was their first kiss. The moment so intimate that it feels like an intrusion for Richie and Eddie to be witnessing. Neither of them can find it in themselves to end the obviously critical moment.

"Thank you, babylove. I needed to hear that." The pet name slams Richie's mind to Stan and thinks he will have to call him later when they weren't dealing with a crisis to tell him he heard someone else say it in just as a sappy tone that he does. If Richie had any question about Quinn's feelings for their son before, it was all but solidified with that single word. Only a man deeply in love with someone else can make that name sound like it rolls off the tongue naturally.

Even though Quinn's questions have an answer for the moment, they still need to address what exactly has been happening between them for the past few months instead of avoiding it any longer. Another silence fills the room that makes both parents and boys uneasy. All seem to try to find a way to break the quiet that has settled.

Eddie decides that they should look over Quinn's injuries. He is satisfied that Charlie doesn't need serious medical attention. Therapy is definitely in Charlie's future. The bruising will be significant, and given how they were gained, they will probably have to be photographed by state officials because there is no way the boy who did this is getting away scot-free. Eddie could level his whole family by himself if he wanted to from sheer fury alone. Still, the real chaos will come as soon as Richie devises his plan of action.

"Okay, Quinn. Some rules. I need to know how bad this is before I have a complete freak-out." Eddie's hands are on his hips in the sassy dad way that both boys are familiar with. Eddie's small bit of normalcy being bossy with them as Richie looks on helps them both to relax, even if it is just a hair.

Quinn pulls his shirt over his head without much contest, and for the first time since this morning, Charlie sees the full extent of the marks he left on his skin. The constellations made of love bites travel in a neat line along Quinn's neck, but that is as far as the neatness remains. The rest of the blemishes are splotched haphazardly made along his chest and lower abdomen down past the waistband of his jeans, if Charlie had to guess. His face flushes, and he looks away. Having to face his drunken decision to mark up his best friend in front of both of his parents is not how he envisioned the evening going. Those aren't the only marks visible on Quinn's body that Charlie has a recollection of making.

The angry, healing lines down his back need no explanation. The most revealing piece is a bite mark pressed into the skin of his shoulder. Charlie wants to sink into the floor because he remembers making them even if at the moment he wishes he didn't. Quinn's shoulders are flushed the same pink color as Charlie's whole upper half, letting both adults know who made Quinn's marks. Eddie's focus is on the blossoming splay of bruises across Quinn's ribs and the overall condition of his hand, which is still wrapped tightly in the dishtowel Richie gave him earlier.

Eddie reframes from making any comments about the state of Quinn's body, but Richie can't help himself. Even without knowing the reputation that Quinn had gotten in school as the kind of boy who could have anybody he wants, Richie's mind only wonders to the idea that their son and his best friend have been doing a lot more than just kissing. Usually, any kind of discussion of their son's sexual activity was off the table unless it includes a tasteless joke and quick topic change but visual information that he was just given leads to both and then some.

"Shit, kid, you got an only fans or something?" Quinn groans at the comment. Charlie would make a quip to his Pops if it wasn't for the overwhelming amount of embarrassment from his parents piecing together their thinly veiled relationship. His focus shifting quickly from Quinn to his grinning Pops, then to the next diminution, willing himself out of his body and into another reality.

"Beep beep Richie! Sorry Q." Eddie cuts his eyes at Richie, almost to say 'Really dude?' before he starts to clean Quinn's hand. Both boys want to crawl into themselves. Quinn winces at the sting of the hydrogen-proxied being dabbed onto his battered hand. The dishtowel he had wrapped around it stained dark red bubbles under the liquid too. While the boy's hand doesn't seem to actually be broken, his knucks have taken a real beating, and he may have broken a finger or two somehow in the fight. Eddie is more worried that he has fractured some ribs from the bruising on his side than his hand's busted state.

"It's fine, Mr. TK. Not the first time I've been called a whore. Indirectly or otherwise." Charlie knows Quinn is trying to make a joke, but it flops as his eyes land on him. Both Hank's words toward Charlie and Mrs. Mora's words toward Quinn surface in his mind, and he curses his Pops for being unable to keep from making jokes like that sometimes.

Quinn regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth but not only because of the look that Charlie levels him with. Eddie's brow furrows deeply while Richie looks like he wants to physically stick his foot in his mouth. Neither commented on what he said, but it is easy to tell that no one in the room took the statement as a joke, even if that was Quinn's intent.

"Baby, don't talk about yourself like that." Charlie's voice is soft. He cast warmly over the taller boy as if to tell him it doesn't matter what others say' without saying the words. His hand rubbing at Q's scalp in the same way Quinn had done at the diner, tugging lightly when Quinn finally lets his face fall. His eyes downcase as not to meet those of anyone in the room until Richie speaks up again.

"Sorry, Quinn. You know I have got no filter. I'm like tap water, dirty and always running." Richie says honestly, trying to make the boy laugh. The kind of bullying he had been subjected to mainly revolved around the Losers being just that, along with the always present homophobia of Derry. He had never had the problem of people thinking he had been with anyone in the way that Quinn and Charlie were alluding to. The only person they knew who had those kinds of rumors spread about them was Bev, and Richie didn't think face-timing her at this exact moment was the right call.

Quinn only huffs out a half-laugh leaving both adults unsure how they should break the tension Richie had created before Charlie leans into Quinn, pulling his uninjured hand in-between his own.

"Seriously, honey, fuck 'em. They know nothing about you. Not your mom. Not the assholes at school. Not my bone-headed Pops." Charlie's warm tone seems to loosen something in Quinn that allows him to relax somewhat. The small jab at Richie helps both the boys and the men present. Richie feels himself let out a breath he didn't know he was holding until he feels himself sag in his seat. From the roll of Eddie's shoulder, Richie'd say the same for him.

The tension in the room lessens as Charlie keeps his hands wrapped around Q's own, letting his thumb rub circles on the side of it. An unspoken battle wage between them. Eddie and Richie are reminded of themselves when they are teens. There had been many times when the two had held the other's gaze so that they could argue without drawing attention from the others. Quinn must lose because the corners of Charlie's mouth upturn, and Quinn's somber face slips into something warmer. Neither man wants to end the moment, but both boys need help with their injuries, which sends Eddie right back into parent mode.

"Alright, Quinn. Same question so that we are all on the same page. What happened?" Eddie reminds the boys that they are still present, leading both boys to pull back from each other.

"I beat the shit out of Hank-" but the mention of Charlie's ex causes him to lose all the color to his face, turning a sickly green with his eyes unfocusing. Before anyone can say another word, Charlie is retching into the kitchen trash can. It is common knowledge that Richie is a traumatic puker. Still, Charlie hadn't shown any sign of gaining the trait until that moment. With his head still hung over the can, he holds up a hand to signal that he's fine, but none of them believe him. The sound is worse than actually watching the boy trying to lose the non-existent contents of his stomach. It does not hit Charlie or Quinn until then that Charlie doesn't have anything in his system and hasn't since he lost what little he had left on the sidewalk before Quinn picked him up. The concern that consumes Quinn's face lets Eddie and Richie know that the boy is far more worried about Charlie than he is about his own swollen face and battered hand.

Using a paper towel to wipe his face, Charlie looks up. "Can we please not use his name right now. I... it makes me sick. Literally, I guess." His face is haunted and shadowed like he lacks sleep and several other basic human needs. The statement may be more accurate than either Richie or Eddie thought it should be by how Quinn wraps himself around Charlie as soon as he returns to his seat. Charlie's reaction to the name seems to trigger an unexpected emotion in Quinn.

Quinn's face is scrunched up in borderline disgust. He half asks, "Love, I swear to god if he-" The anger rolls off Quinn in waves making both adults return to the question they had earlier about what that boy was willing to do to their son. The idea that something more happened than just a fight violently knocks the wind out of Eddie again. Charlie's eyes glaze over for half a second, but that is all the rest of the party has to see to know the answer. Eddie feels sick, and Richie looks like he might pressure Quinn for the kid's address.

"Can we just... drop it?" Charlie hides his face in his arms. His breath shaky at best as he does so. His shoulders' small trimmer is the only reason they know that the boy is letting out silent sobs. The sight shatters all those involved. Richie's jaw clenched with such force that Eddie would be afraid he was going to snap it if it wasn't for his own whirling emotions. Neither have to say anything as they make the silent agreement to ruin this boy's life for what he has done to their son.

Even though he didn't confirm the answer, Charlie's overflowing emotions show the admission of anything else as a lie. Quinn's anger slowly rolls to sorrow for how much pain his best friend and the boy he loves must be in at the moment. Charlie doesn't jump away from Quinn's hands as they wrapping around him limply before using slightly more force to pull the teen away from the table. Charlie wastes no time settling himself in Quinn's lap and hiding his face in Quinn's neck with no hesitation. Seated him the longer teen's lap, Charlie looks small even though he is by no means a little boy.

Even though both fathers want to commit murder, seeing Charlie still being so comfortable and close with Quinn lets them relax somewhat. At least this Hank guy hasn't ruined that, too, for the boys in front of them. The overwhelming fact that their son had been suffering through this without even confiding in his best friend for however long the abuse had been going on is eating away at the inside of both Eddie and Richie. The comfort that comes from seeing the two boys still so close gives them hope and makes them sick to think they might have lost that connection. They allow silence to envelop the room as Charlie lets each sob crawl out of him. When he can finally raise his head away from Q's neck, his eyes are red and swollen.

His eyes land on Quinn's face, and his own suddenly contorts as if to remember a point he wanted to make earlier. He squints at Quinn before pressing his lips together like he is trying to decide what to say. The sadness that previously occupied his face is consumed by a new emotion. One that shocks both Quinn and his parents. It is an expression of fury.

"Actually. What the fuck, babe!" Charlie is now flushed with rage. All three in the room are caught slack-jawed. Charlie makes no move to get off the boy's lap, but his hands come up to grip either side of Quinn's arms, holding him in place, "Why did you go there when you knew I wasn't there anymore? He could have fucking killed you!" The anger bleeds into worry as the realization that Charlie could have just as easily lost Quinn to 'H' as quickly as he almost lost himself.

"Get off my dick, love. He's a piece of shit! He laid his hands on you. Like. I couldn't just let him get away with it. Not this time. Not when we're-" Quinn's hand gesturing vaguely between the two even though there isn't much space to do so. He doesn't let Quinn finish. Charlie flies into the argument leaning back far enough that both Eddie and Richie are worried he will fall off Q's lap. Quinn's hand lands on his hip to help keep him from doing so, but Charlie seems to have other ideas.

"Not when we're what, babe? Kissing? Fucking? Acting as nothing fucking happens?" Charlie's words cut deep into Q's core because they are correct. All they have been doing for the past three months since prom was let themselves get drunk and fuck around. They only kissed when they were drunk enough to justify it. Kissing quickly slipped into sex. Both teens validating their feelings through drunken outbursts. They acted like they didn't remember most mornings after like they had today or yesterday now. Even though they are arguing, they look moments from sealing their lips together.

It's like watching a tennis match for Eddie and Richie. It reminds them of how they fought before they finally allowed themselves to be together. Richie never cared about how Eddie was, and Eddie always loved to hate how much of an absolute unit Richie could be from time to time. It would warm their hearts if the context was different. They have questions still, but for right now, they just let the teens argue.

"I was gonna say dating, you dickhole." Quinn replies softly. "Unless that's a no." The look on Quinn's face is so soft. He looks so in love with Charlie that not even Richie can break the moment with a joke. His hand pulling Char just a hair closer. Charlie is quiet for the first time since they started arguing. His face flushes, then go soft, before shifting to mad again.

"Do you actually have to fucking do this right now! I'm just trying to be an independent man. I can fight my own evil exes, Scott Pilgrim." Charlie lets his hand grip onto Quinn's shoulder, giving it a squeeze that neither signifies a yes or a no but the look that passes between them tells everything that needs to be known. The corners of Quinn's mouth pull upward as Charlie lets himself fall forward, slotting his mouth over Q's. They kiss for a few moments until Eddie clears his throat yet again, bring their attention back to him.

"I hate to interrupt the moment, but Quinn, I think you need to go to the ER. I'm not worried about your hand, but I am worried about your ribs. And Charlie..." Eddie brings both boys crash-landing back to Earth. Quinn looks lost for words. His face is a pale shade of pink. Charlie wants to completely shut down at the thought of having a medical professional poking over his body. They will probably want to perform a rape kit, and Charlie can't do that right now. His attention is pulled back by the sucked-in breath of Quinn underneath him.

"That's going to be a no-go, Mr. TK. My mom can't find out about this. Like. She can't." Quinn's face shifts to absolute panic. His grip on Charlie is on edge of too tight, but Charlie can't bring himself to say anything over the need to calm his baby down.

"I will never see the light of day again or Charlie or my fucking dad. She's already on my case about fucking a non-existent girl." His voice raises and starts to constrict in the way it does before Charlie can pull him out of a panic attack. His breaths speed up as his face morphs into a hazy expression. The only thing keeping him grounded is Charlie still perched in his lap.

"Hey, look at me, love. Yep, right here. Breath with me." Charlie leads Quinn through the same breathing exercise that his pops had earlier in the night. Holding his face between his hands, Charlie makes sure to keep eye-contact with Quinn. His eyes shift back to focus the longer they breathe in time.

"That's good. Hi. Welcome back, babe. Dad isn't gonna make you do anything that would put you in danger. You know that Q." Charlie raises his eyes to meet his dad's across the table while he reassures Q that nothing is going to happen. Eddie can't help but nod along. Richie wants to point out that both boys are still minors, but the look Eddie shoots him tells him to silently keep his mouth shut.

"They do need to be looked at by a medical professional, but… We can keep this between the four of us, okay, boys?" Eddie's voice is soft but stern. All the tension drains from both teen's bodies. Eddie doesn't know how they will pull this off as a reasonable adult, but the panic that filled Quinn reminds him too much of himself when he was a kid. The idea that Quinn's mother might lock him away from all of his friends over getting medical treatment has a grip on his heart in the way that he would do anything to make sure the boy is taken proper care of without being punished for getting injured.

"Sorry for freaking out…" Quinn lets himself be vulnerable in front of Charlie's parents. It isn't the first time he does so, but there is something about two successful, happy gay men raising a kid that makes him open up. Either that or the way Richie always has something funny might trigger Eddie to go into a full-blown rant that makes all three laugh throughout.

"Don't worry, Harley. We've all got shit brains sometimes." Richie speaks for the first time since putting his foot in his mouth. Richie gives both boys a half-hug which is honestly the best because Charlie's pops give the best hugs. He goes to change into more comfortable clothes while the boys are told by Eddie to go change. They are leaving in about 15 minutes for the ER so that Quinn's ribs don't start to heal in 'the wrong position,' whatever that means. Both boys are looking forward to having a moment alone to talk about the things they didn't plan to talk about in front of Charlie's parents.

"Oh, and boys," they both look back at Eddie, "Keep the door open, okay." He drops that on them before walking away to do something before they leave. For the thousandth time that night, both boys are cherry red, but they still walk to Charlie's room hand in hand with no fear of Charlie's parents telling them they can't be together.

* * *

Charlie's room is just as they left it the day before yesterday. His large bed is unmade from where they had been playing video games. After everything that has happened, it feels like several days ago. Charlie's head is swimming again, finally having a moment to think over the events. He wants to focus on the boy standing mere meters away from him but, 'H' comes flooding back to him as he remembers all the things he had been pushing back for the last three months since the real abuse started. His hands come to cover his face before a sob shakes his whole body.

Seconds later, a hand is pulling him forward before his face is hidden by the plain of Quinn's chest with his hand running through his hair. Charlie uncovers his face to wrap his arms around Q's middle and hid his face in Q's neck. More sobs quake through his body before either of them say anything. Quinn hates seeing Charlie hurting like this, but he is so glad to comfort him. Once his sobs slow again, Quinn risks speaking.

"Do you want to tell me anything in case I have to speak for you when we get there?" Quinn's question is quiet but expected. He is always looking out for Charlie. That includes when he breaks down again once they have to answer the medical professionals' questions in less than an hour.

"He didn't manage to get me upstairs. I fought instead. He… he was going to kill me, Quinn. I know he was, and I just… I didn't want to leave yet, and then he talked about you and I just. It gave me the strength to fight him. To get away. To get back to you." Char's words are babbled and messy because his throat is tight from the images flashing before his eyes, even though he is trying to tell Quinn what was necessary. To tell Quinn that he means the world to him. His hands shaking as they grip onto the back of Quinn's blood-stained shirt.

Charlie's words make the blood in his veins run cold as the idea that Hank had dragged Charlie up against his living room steps to his bedroom on any previous occasion swarms him. Quinn can't help the way his jaw clenches as the scene plays out in his head. He wishes he had done more than break the boy's nose while his eye focusing on the messy desk on the other side of the room. One of his jackets draped over the back of the chair—a collection of figures, pictures, and paintings decorating the wall and window seal.

Quinn pulls far enough away to look Charlie in the eye. His blue eyes pool of troubled water. Q doesn't want to ask the question feels he has to. The same question that Charlie's parents had wanted to ask downstairs but were too afraid of the answer to do so. The same question that makes Quinn want to throw up when he thinks about himself and the sex he'd been having with Charlie for months now. Even if Charlie says it isn't the same, how can he feel any better than that monster when they talked about consent?

"I have to ask babylove. You don't have to say it. You can just nod, but… I need to be able to tell them when they ask." Quinn tries to keep his voice level and soft. It sounds like he is talking to a stray animal, but he is more scared of hurting Charlie than getting answers that might break the boy.

Charlie doesn't give Quinn time to ask the question correctly. His hands grip Quinn painfully before he pulls back even more. His eyes are still uneasy, with his bottom lip being worried between his teeth. He wants to shut down. He wants to act like nothing happened or has been happening, but Charlie knows that will get them nowhere, so he does the next best thing. He looks Quinn in the eyes and tells him the truth.

"Yes," Charlie's eyes flutter as the word passes his lips, but he refuses to stop there. He has to say it all, or he won't be able to say anything later when he has to face strangers.

"He… For about three months now, he has been… I can't say it, but yes. He makes me feel gross and empty and disgusting and worthless and hollow. He made me push everyone away but you... He made me think I was alone and like I couldn't be worth anything by anyone but you..." Charlie is near tears again as his breaths shake out of him. His chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares up into Quinn's tear-filled eyes.

"Quinn, you refused to leave. You make me feel like I'm worth something. The only person that man couldn't rip from my life." An inhale shakes both boys—neither knowing who takes the breath.

"When he started touching me, I started touching you. For every fucking time he laid his hands on me and made me feel hollow, I filled it with you" Charlie's hands slid up to either side of Quinn's face trying to hold on to the only thing keeping him grounded right now.

"I shouldn't have. I should never have gotten drunk and kissed you. I blurred the lines between us so that I could use you to make his touch go away, and I'm so fucking sorry Q. I'm so fucking sorry." The words fall off his tongue as he weeps, pulling Quinn's forehead against his own. Both of them are shaking at this point, unable to hold back the absolute grief wrapped around them.

Instead of pulling away like Charlie thinks Quinn might, he cards his good hand through his hair before placing a gentle hold on the back of his neck, dragging him forward until their lips are meeting again. This kiss isn't as soft as some of their others. Quinn doesn't want it to be, and honestly, neither does Charlie. The only reason Charlie breaks away is that his lungs are on fire from the crying and lack of air. He keeps his eyes closed. He doesn't want to see Quinn's face right now. Paralyzed by what kind of expression he might have.

"Don't you dare apologize for that, Charlie." Quinn's words cut into him but not because of the pointed tone they are said in. It is the soft tug of his chin upwards in the effort for Charlie to open his eyes and meet Quinn's own brown orbs. The way his fingers are guiding without any harsh intent persuades him to slowly perceive the man holding on to him.

Quinn's eyes are soft, still, warm, and inviting like honey. A rich brown with flecks of gold and amber.

"Hey there, beautiful," a small smile strings itself across his sharp features.

"I never want you to regret anything you did with me to help forget about him. Ever. I'd rather you use this body as a distraction than suffer through everything he put you through." His voice is soft as soon as he has Charlie's eyes on him. The concept of Charlie blaming himself doesn't sit right in his stomach. The boy needs to know that he is at no fault. What he suffered at the hands of that piece of trash has nothing to do with him.

"I never want you to regret anything you did with me, Charlie. I enjoyed it. I still enjoy it. If you still want me?" The question that hangs between them is heavy. Never for a moment had Quinn thought that Charlie was using him but, he had to give him the power to pull back from this. In case it was only a distraction. In case there were never any feelings. In case Charlie had neve-

Quinn is pulled out mid-thought by Charlie pulling him forward again. Their lips passing almost sweetly. Charlie's eyes large, red, and puffy from all the crying he had done in the past few hours. His hands clenching desperately at the back of Quinn's shirt.

"I will always want you. Now that I have you, I can't let go," Charlie's lip is split open again from the chaste kiss. His frame trembling, "Even if it's selfish."

The look in Charlie's eyes tells Quinn he means it, but they both know that this isn't going to be easy for them. Whatever they decide, this is. Quinn hopes that this is just the beginning of something lasting. Something they had been working up to since they met that day in the middle of the seventh grade before Quinn had shot up like a pole, and Charlie had started to simultaneously blend in and stand out in school.

They need to address what they are like they had planned to do before everything started tumbling out of them. Eddie is knocking on the cracked door asking the boys if they are ready to head out. Neither of them has changed out of their blood-covered, tear-stained clothing yet.

"Just a sec, Mr. TK. We were talking." Quinn pulls Charlie by the hand over to the dresser that houses most of Char's comfortable clothes before pulling out a plain tee and a pair of joggers for Charlie and a replacement tee for himself. Charlie can't seem to find his voice again as he pulls his clothes off his shaking body. Quinn watches quietly before removing his own shirt over his head and replacing it. He feels eyes on him while he does so and when he meets Charlie's eyes, his face is flushed an embarrassing shade of pink. That causes Quinn to chuckle before cornering Charlie.

"You like what you see, baby?" The words fall from his lips quickly, hitting on Charlie is water to him. In a way, it is. They flirt often and intensely. Will and Sophie were always telling them to just get their shit together already, but both knew (or at least thought they knew) that Charlie would never cheat on Hank. They had been wrong, but the circumstances were skewed.

Charlie's blush deepens as he pulls the joggers up over his pride boxers. They are a deep maroon color, the same color as the sweater Char had confiscated from Quinn's room what feels like days ago now. They hang loosely off him to the point he had to tie the drawstring on the inside before slowly slipping said sweater over his head. The black tee that replaces it also swallows him whole. Both boys seem to realize at the same time that it had to be one of Q's shirts and not Charlie's own. It sets a small smile on both of their faces before Charlie holds his hand out toward Quinn. It only takes a second for their hands to link. Long, boney fingers intertwined with stouter ones tipped in black nail polish. Neither says a word as they make their way downstairs to meet the two men waiting for them. If they see some sort of confirmed understanding between the two, neither say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and just know that it is only up from here. Well, recovery is never a linear path but you get it!


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